


quarter past midnight

by laurelsalexis



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s02e21 Judgment Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 07:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14765138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurelsalexis/pseuds/laurelsalexis
Summary: They both have so much to figure out and that won't happen overnight. But for the moment, things are okay.





	quarter past midnight

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this before the finale but just hadn't gotten around to editing it or anything. But now I have so.

F.P. barely leaves the hospital. He can’t bring himself to. For the first few days he just sits there, endlessly, ignoring the nurses' protests, ignoring the words of the doctor, just  _sitting_ there in that chair. He’s glued to it. Visitors come and go. The only time he even bothers to get something to eat or drink in the cafeteria that makes his own cooking look like that of a gourmet chef. 

Betty only leaves when she has to. Sweet Pea is usually a ball of rage and comes with Toni and Cheryl. It's surprising how well the little trio fits as he observes them. Cheryl is the one who kicks him out of the room a few times. Some vague insults that he's not even mad about because they work to get him something to eat. 

As long as Jughead isn't alone. 

It guts him to know what happened to his son and knowing what he needs to do to fix it.  _Revenge_ , actually. There’s never anything he's liked about Penny prior but now, he knows what he needs to do. A father's rage is unlike anything he's felt in his life. He uses Jughead’s status to his advantage as he tries to figure out a plan that is not going to get any of the Serpents killed. 

They Ghoulies and Hiram and whoever else are not going to come into the hospital to kill his son. 

They are laying low for the time being.

He's not in the hospital as he walks down the street. The walk in the cool night air of the recently chaotic town of Riverdale is something that is needed. Just to think and pretend that everything is fine. Not that his guard is down. The Black Hood doesn't even concern him and he doesn't think Penny will seek him out. She's never done that. Life would be so much simpler if she would just get her revenge on him. 

The whole point is probably that the revenge is through his son. 

It only makes him angrier to think that the whole point is to target his son. 

He turns down the street and sees the mess of people in front of Alice's house. For everything she worked for he doesn't think that this is part of the plan, to be some caged animal because her husband is a fucking psycho, to put it nicely. He doesn't know what any of them expect to actually find.

Not that he asks as he brushes past them. He doesn't care about the pictures he knows are being taken or the fact that there are questions being shoved at him. He ignores them all and knocks on the door, a little nervous.

A lot nervous. 

The only reason he is even out there is because Betty nearly shoved him out of the hospital room. She wants to spend some more time with Jughead and kept dropping hints that her mother would benefit from some company. F.P. doubts Alice wants to see him, but Betty can be very persuasive when she wants to be.

So, there he stands and hopes that the welcome isn't as cold as he thinks. 

They haven't exactly spoken since the Charles reveal, or the fact that her husband is sitting in a jail cell because he's the Black Hood, or the fact that his son has spent the last week in a hospital because he nearly died. 

“I told you -” Alice starts with the swing of the door, voice harsh and exhausted, before she sees him and stops speaking. She closes the robe around her body and crosses her arms. “What are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?”

Alice studies him for a moment, looking out at the crowd at the edge of her lawn. “Yeah.” 

F.P. walks through the door and turns to look back at Alice. “How are you?”

“My husband is a serial killer. Not even a good one.” Alice snarks as she shuts the door, locking it, before turning back to him. “He could have at least done it sooner. I had to put up with twenty-five years of bullshit.” 

He really tries not to crack any smile. He fails. “Gladys isn’t looking too bad right about now.” 

“No word?”

“We talked.” He shrugs, sitting on the arm of the couch. “I don’t want my daughter in this, so it’s… _fine_.” He’s not in the mood to talk about it. No real plan finds him even as he sits there. Things are tense between them and nothing logical comes to mind. Things are tense within him, regardless. He feels guilt, sadness, and raw anger that has caused him to make some very poor decisions in the recent days. 

“What are you doing here, F.P.?” Alice asks again, this time not going to take anything but the truth for an answer. 

He swallows as he looks up at her. “Betty wanted some time with Jug. No nurse is kicking that force of nature out of there. She said you could use some company. I tried to avoid it, but she’s definitely your daughter, Alice.” 

“Oh.” There’s a flash of surprise across her features. “Do you want some coffee?” 

“Sure.” 

Alice walks to the kitchen and goes about making coffee, the silence heavy between them. They haven’t spoken at all since her reveal about Charles. Life got away from them and there he is. He watches her carefully as he moves to the island in the kitchen and pulls out one of the chairs to sit in. There’s so much he wants to say but he can’t find the words.

Rather his hands clasp in front of him as the silence continues. He thinks about all the things that have gone wrong and everything is still going wrong. His son will live, thankfully, but it’s just too much. The mental images stick in his mind and no matter how much he tries to will them away they stay. 

He closes his eyes as the images of finding Jughead’s body on the ground flood him. He’s seen some pretty bad moments in his life, especially when it comes to the Serpents, but his son changes everything. He’s supposed to protect him and he failed. 

“F.P.” Alice whispers, standing next to him, looking at him with concern. 

The softness in her voice is what makes him snap his eyes open. He looks at her and hates just how her just standing there makes him feel better. He doesn’t want it to be true. He wants to hate her for everything and wants her to hate him in return. It’s clear neither are true. Part of him thinks they need each other more now than ever. 

“You think all that shit we did as kids is karma?” He asks, turning slightly, so he can see her more, but also, so he can put a few inches between them. She clouds his mind so much when they’re near each other.

Alice doesn’t answer immediately. Rather she moves a chair so she can sit on the side of the island, so she can still look at him. “Which part?”

“All of it. We were terrible and reckless.” 

“Yeah, we were. We’re trying though.” 

F.P. can concede to that. “My son almost died.” 

“And your other son  _is_ dead.” Alice says what they are both thinking before getting up and pouring them both some coffee.

“That’s not where I was going with that.” 

“It’s true.” Alice sets the cup down in front of him. “Hal is the Black Hood. Charles is dead and I killed him. Polly is off with the twins god knows where. Jughead nearly died at the hands of the Ghoulies. Gladys can’t find it in her to care for her nearly dead son. Betty has some  _darkness_ and I don't even know what that means. They are all facts.”

He swallows as she lists them off, desperately trying to remain calm. He is anything but calm. Only blowing up on Alice has never proven to benefit him. “Stop, Alice.”

She takes a sip of the coffee. “No point in running from it.”

“What do you want me to say? Do you want me to hate you?” He doesn’t even have the energy to be mad at her. Rather, he’s just so tired. So damn tired.

“Someone should.” 

He scoffs. “Self-depreciation is my thing.”

“I can’t do this, F.P. Any of it.” Her voice drops to a low whisper, holding on tightly to the coffee cup. “This has been the worst year of my life and I just can’t do it anymore.” 

He can agree the year is pretty bad. He’s barely holding himself together. “You’ll be fine. Nothing has ever gotten Alice Smith down.” 

She nods, barely keeping her tears at bay. “What about you?” 

“Until Penny and Hiram are dealt with nothing is fine and nothing is okay.” 

“Let me help.” Alice’s voice is somewhere between a plead and a statement. “You need me.”

“I won’t do this to you.” He shakes his head. “No one else is getting hurt because of me.” 

“I can take care of myself and you know that.” 

“I know.” F.P. concedes. If anyone can take care of themselves it’s Alice. She’s no damsel and he’s always loved that. “This is different.” 

“It’s not.” 

“It is.” 

“Why won’t you let me help you?” Alice bites at him. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“And would you care?”

“What?” 

“C’mon, Alice. Would we even be speaking if I didn’t come here?” It’s the lead into an accusation he wants to make in the very pit of him. Where the words are cruel and he is even crueler. He knows how to hit where it hurts, just as she does with him. 

“You made it clear at the diner.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He stands up, avoiding saying anything else. She’s not a bridge he wants to burn. “I should go. I don’t know why I came.” 

Alice grips her hand around his wrist as he tries to walk away. 

F.P. doesn’t move from his spot and doesn’t turn back to look at her. Rather, he stands there, looking down at the floor. She doesn’t let go and he doesn’t yank back his hand. It’s as if the time just stands still. 

“I can’t fight with you, too.” He finally says, relaxing his shoulders, tired of fighting at every turn.

She stands and finds herself behind him. Her hand snakes up his arm, gripping at his bicep, chin on his shoulder. “Don’t fight.” She whispers. “Let me help.” 

He leans back against her. “If something happens to you I’ll never forgive myself.” 

“I can’t lose you, too.” Alice murmurs, holding onto him tighter. “I’ve lost so much, F.P.”

He nearly tells her that if she does lose him she will be okay. She's strong and can survive nearly anything. She hasn't needed him the past twenty-five years and she didn't need him when she was pregnant with their son. It's not him that has made this nice, perfect life for her, even if the reason for that perfect life is currently sitting in a jail cell. She's never  _needed_ him. It's the truth and something that aches so painfully in his chest. But he doesn't say anything. Rather, he turns around and looks at her, willing to take the comfort, to give her some. Even if it's so very little at least they do have each other for the moment. 

Alice looks at him for a moment before pushing the leather jacket off of his shoulders. She moves and pulls it off of him, letting it rest on the chair, her own robe falling off of her. “Penny and Hiram will not be a problem for much longer.” Her voice is confident as she comes to stand in front of him. Her hands grip at the plaid shirt he has on, unbuttoned, the grey of his t-shirt underneath. “But tonight, we need this.” 

F.P. doesn’t argue. He doesn’t want to and doesn’t think he can anyway. Not with that determination in that voice of hers. They do need this, need each other, need to not think of Hiram and Penny. Not when she looks so broken but so beautiful. The palm of his hand resting on the flesh of her cheek. He brushes his thumb across the top of her cheek. He drops to his knees all too quickly, not even daring to kiss her, not when he wants something else. 

Alice pushes the material of her pants down her hips and leans back against the counter of the kitchen. Her legs spread apart just for him, watching him carefully, sinking her flesh into bottom lip. 

Lips brush against the flesh of her thigh, finding himself closer to her, nipping at her skin. He needs them to both feel better and this is it. Her panties meet the floor and he finds what he wants.  _Her_. In all that perfect glory that he didn’t get enough of that day in his trailer. He needs more of her. 

Light kisses are placed against her, letting her push herself further against him, teasing at her with his tongue. He feels her hands in his hair and then his tongue is against her, not leaving any part of her uncovered. He needs to savor this moment in case it doesn’t happen again. If this is it’s all he wants. He wants to remember that sweet taste of her and the way she forces him to take more of her. 

He pushes her legs even further apart as he settles, tongue against her clit, hand against the flat of her stomach. 

F.P. stares up at her as he uses his tongue to let pleasure moving through her, hand squeezing at her thigh, watching the way her chest grew heavy with each passing breath. Her leg hooks over his shoulder then, but it’s only when fingers curl inside of her does she throw her head back, hips rolling, grinding herself against his face.

He takes all of it. He enjoys all of it. He wants more. A soft hum comes out of him, the vibrations against her, encouraging her, enjoying himself. He still knows what she likes. The hand on her stomach moves to around her, pulling her closer, tight against him, barely giving him room to breathe. 

It’s a feeling he needs. To not think and not react. Just be there, let his tongue work against her clit even more desperately than before, let his fingers curl inside of her, become covered in how damn wet she is. She’s a perfect image above him. Completely naked and oh, so wet. The soft light of the kitchen hitting her.

She comes without warning then. She’s not quiet about it either. His name fills the air as he licks her through it, swiping his tongue along her entirely. Her breath is still heavy as he pulls back, resting back on his legs, watching her. 

The emotion within him is a mix. The lust takes over and he feels good for making her feel good. He’s throbbing in his jeans and is desperate to come. With her. However, he doesn’t care. But there’s still the ache in his chest from everything that he can barely keep contained. He swallows it all back, though, standing, moving so he’s in front of her, pushing against her. The soft, supple skin beneath him, in contrast to his clothed body, lips brushing against hers.

He’s a lot softer than he usually is. The anger and rage have turned into something far deeper, sadder, almost, making him the calm man he nearly never is. Even as he kisses her it’s not raw passion after twenty-five years it’s comfort. He need it from her and he wants to give it to her. 

Only when she pulls from him does the kiss break. There’s no speaking as he removes both the shirts he’s wearing, unbuckling the belt, grabbing as his erect cock as his jeans become undone. She watches him with a melancholy of her own as she strokes him.

It’s so true how they need each other. 

She pushes him until he’s sitting on one of the chairs by the dining room table, before settling herself in his lap. 

He rests hard and needy against his stomach, watching as she looks at him, so careful. She’s silent, still, the house so eerily quiet from everything and everyone. Her finds him again, soft strokes, twists of her wrist, watching him as the pleasure begins to find him.

He watches her, biting back a moan, doing his best to seem ever the controlled. Only he’s not. He never is. So rarely can he pretend to be some image of perfection but that’s not what she wants. It’s what she’s had and her husband is in jail, a great irony, as he is there, in that house, desperate for her. 

“We -”

Alice puts her finger on his lips before he can get anything out. So, he doesn’t. Rather his hand grips at her wrist to keep her steady, the other running along her chest. They've always been a touch reckless and stupid. 

She sinks down on him without another word and any thought he had is forgotten. Rather, he enjoys being inside of her. The warmth of her around him, hot, wet, and fuckin’ perfect. Enough to make him think of only this. Only her. 

She moves slow, painfully slow, hand gripping at his shoulder. Her forehead finds his and her breath is heavy against his own. The tension rising between them just as the emotion does. 

It feels like they are both barely clinging on. 

He guides her with each movement. Slow, at first, before she’s faster, harder, desperate. She needs this, to feel, to just  _be_. It's not lost on him where they are or the weight of everything between them. It's not as if this is going to make things any better for them. Rather, things will only be more complicated. There's so much to talk about and somehow, he doesn't care.

Right in that moment he just doesn't care.

There's no energy to. 

She murmurs against his ear, soft words of encouragement, goading him, doing her best to push him. He kisses along the line of her jaw, fingers tangling in her hair. A moment that is just them. Ignoring their problems. Ignoring so damn much. Teeth sink into the flesh of her neck as he comes apart, right along with her. 

He only feels better for a slight second but it's a second, he takes, holding onto her, letting his mind wash free of his problems. 

She pulls herself off him but doesn’t move from his lap. Rather settles herself closer to him, arm draped around his neck, breathing into him. “Are you going back to the hospital?” 

“Not until morning.” He murmurs, stroking her hair. “Jug kicked me out.”

The feel of her smile can be felt against his neck. “Stay.”

“What about Betty?”

“She knows.” She pauses, letting out a soft breath. “About us.” 

“How?”

“I was…” She sits on up so she can look at him, palms flat against his chest, “taunting Hal about it.”

“You’re the only woman who would taunt a serial killer.” He really does try his hardest not to smile. It's hilarious, really. So, Alice. 

“I’m the only unfortunate soul to be married to one.” 

“Mm, I think Hermione would disagree.” 

Alice gets up and puts her pants back on and tosses him his shirt. “Here.” 

He puts it back on as he keeps his eyes on her. F.P. knows that he should leave and give them both some kind of space, given everything, but he just wants to be closer to her. Everything is so fucked up that at least they can be fucked up together.

“Let’s go upstairs.” 

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Alice grabs his hand and tugs him along. 

F.P. follows her up the stairs and down the hall to her bedroom. It's not exactly what he's pictured in the past. It's a mess. Not in the Alice is messy way but she's definitely trying to cleanse way. He doesn't say anything but rather focuses on her. 

She turns around to look at him. "I want to get rid of all his stuff but I don't know what to do."

F.P. can imagine it's not easy to cleanse yourself of a husband. "The cops?"

"Already been through." She sits on the edge of the bed. "Took everything they needed, which doesn't include twenty sweaters of the same color." 

"You got boxes? Bags? Anything?" 

"What?"

"For his stuff."

Alice softens then, a lot, that tired and resigned look on her face. "We don't have to."

"It'll keep us both busy." 

Alice nods and finds some boxes and some tape, putting everything on the bed. Her hair tosses up in a bun and he can't help but stare at her. 

"What?"

F.P. doesn't tear his gaze off of her. "You look nice."

Alice rolls her eyes and she assembles a box and tapes the bottom. "What would have happened if we'd have stayed together?"

"I don't know, Alice." He says, taking some of Hal's stuff from the closet and putting it in a box. "I wouldn't have made you give Charles up. We were teens, though." 

"You joined the Army."

"It would have been a good path, good as any." He left on his own and doesn't regret anything. "But we both know that we wouldn't have our kids and through everything neither of us would give them up."

"I know." 

"Couldn't have predicted Hal would do this." There is some sympathy extended towards her. For everything he did not want this for her,  _does_ not want this for her. No matter how much he doesn't like the guy this is entirely different.

"I should have known."

"No, Alice." He denies immediately. "Hal fooled  _everyone_."

"I'm his wife." Alice tries not to snap. She fails. "Twenty-five years. Day in, day out. High school, college, both our daughters. I should have known." The tears well up in her eyes. "He shot Fred.  _Fred_. When has he done anything terrible in his entire life? He's annoyingly good." She opened a drawer from her vanity, dumping everything in a box. "And that poor girl. What could a teenage girl have ever done to him? He ruined everything. He's always ruined everything." 

F.P. walks over to her and wraps his arms around her, bringing her into his embrace. She needs this and to get it all out.

"He made me give up my son." She sobs, falling in his arms. "Our son and he made me miserable. My whole life using my secrets against me. He ruined us, this, everything. He ruined my daughters." 

F.P. drops to his knees right along with as he holds her. "Shh, Alice, it's okay." He knows she doesn't mean that truly. They had some happy moments but the bad always outweighs those. He can't imagine so he doesn't try, just does his best to comfort her, holding on as if she's going to slip right out of his arms.

She clings onto him. "I'm sorry. I've been so horrible, to you, to everyone. For so long. For him,  _because_ of him, because I wanted this perfect life." She's on her knees, placing her hands on his cheeks, looking at her with tears in her eyes. "Forgive me. F.P. for everything. For high school, for every article, for Charles, for everything I've ever said to you, about you. I was wrong." 

"Hey," he whispers, "it's okay. I mean it. It's okay." 

Alice nods, looks down, wiping her tears. "I don't know what to do." 

"Me neither." He admits, falling back onto this butt. "I can't even tell you what it's like to find your son like that." He shakes his head. "Even Betty's face. Burned in my brain." He blinks back his own tears, swallowing back, when she grips his hand. "I should have made him leave when I had the chance. I let him stay, even after what he did to Penny." He shakes his head. "You know, he sliced her tattoo off and she wanted retribution, but I just let it go. Everything go." He sniffles. He wants so badly to be composed but he just isn't. "I wanted to be better than my father."

"You are, F.P." She slides closer to him. "You've made mistakes but you're better than him. You love him and you try. Your father never tried. He yelled and he hit you and," she runs her hand over his cheek and through his hair, "I remember all those times I had to clean you up. I know how you have that scar on your chest." 

"I fucked him up." 

"We both have made mistakes." She nuzzles against him. "Our kids are..." 

F.P. looks at her as he can't keep the tears at bay. "How did we end up like this?"

"I don't know, F.P. I don't." Alice stands up and wipes her tears. "I want to get rid of this stuff."

F.P. tries to pull himself together and stands. There's a lot if silence as they get rid of everything. He puts everything down in the space that Hal had for himself. Boxes stacked in the middle of the room. For the girls and cops in case they need anything. The house slowly, over the next few hours, becomes filled with so much less Hal. Only so Alice can have some kind of peace. 

How much peace she'll actually find is anyone's guess.

It's a cold and empty feeling and when he looks at Alice he can see just how broken she is. He knows what that feels is like. He walks over to hug her and she just grips onto him. "Thank you." 

"I'm always here for you." 

"I know." She whispers as she grabs his hand. There's a moment where she just looks at him before tugging him back to the bedroom. There are no more words as she lays down on the bed and reaches out to him. 

F.P. lays down on his side watching her. "The Serpents always have your back." 

"I know." 

Alice moves so she's lying on her side and nuzzling against him. The tears have stopped even if nothing is solved and nothing will be solved. Not for a very long time. They both have so much to figure out and that won't happen overnight.

But for the moment, things are okay. 

Not good.

Not bad.

Just  _okay_.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr.](http://laurelsalexis.tumblr.com/)


End file.
